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Thursday, December 5, 2013

A Eulogy For Wilson

I’ve always been known as the dramatic one in my family. I
was really into being the center of attention as a child, and my Aunts never
really let me forget about it. I like to think that I have gotten a bit better
about this as I have gotten older, but I know I have my moments. I just have a lot of...emotion.

That all being said, my dog Wilson was put down yesterday.

I’m pretty sure that dogs are God’s way of letting us know
that true happiness exists. They love us unconditionally, they give us comfort when we need it, and they are the only animal I can think of that becomes close companions
with humans and whose souls attempt to outlive their bodies. I’m a dog person,
in case you haven’t picked up on it. Wilson was the second dog I have ever
known and he stuck with me through a lot, I think he deserves a few words, so I’m
going to use this forum to give them to him.

We got Wilson after I tricked my Mom into checking out “volunteer
options” at the Humane Society. We went, found out I needed to be at least 16 to
volunteer on my own, and before heading back home I asked if we could check out the
dogs inside. After significantly less push than I thought it would require, my
Mother relented, and so we walked into the main building. We looked around the
puppy room for a while and ogled at the cuteness that cannot be denied in the
presence of tiny doggies, before heading into the larger kennel area. I
remember seeing a long row of cages and slowly walking up and down seeing if
anybody caught my eye.

My Mom was the one who found him, and when I think back, it
really couldn’t have been any other way. He was laying down on the floor of his
kennel, the only dog not pitching a fit, with his nose poking out between the
mesh of the door. He wagged his tail when my Mom went to pet his muzzle, and I
think that was pretty much the end of it. I remember her telling me I had to
call my Dad while we were driving back in the car, and my Dad distinctly saying
something about “No way, let me talk to your mother.” She confirmed it, and a
few days later we were out there again so that the whole family could meet him.

I remember being disappointed that he wasn’t multicolored, I
thought multi colored dogs were more interesting, maybe it was just because
Jessie, our first dog, was a german shepard mix. Wilson was jet black, with a
long coat like a golden retriever, and it wouldn’t take long for me to find out
he was not at all lacking in the personality department. Dad always speculated
(after getting compliments from multiple dog owners) that he was a pure bred
black coat retriever and that we could have made money off his puppies if only
we hadn’t chopped his balls off. I have no doubt in my mind that Wilson, had we
known him then, would have been the most adorable, fuzz ball of a puppy.

We brought him home after the mandatory waiting period
expired on him as a stray. We literally adopted him on his first day on the
market; we knew a dog like this wouldn’t have lasted long at the shelter. We
were heading up north so he went to stay with my Aunt and Uncle for a while. He
caused a ruckus, broke out of the house through the screened in porch and ran
lose around the neighborhood until later that evening. I maintain to this
day that Wilson would get more excited when my Uncle Bill and Aunt Beth came
over, than any other visitor, because he remembered them.

He finally came home with us, and after a week or so settled
in wonderfully. His name at the pound had been "Noah" but my family are "Home Improvement" fans, and "Cast Away" had just came out, so we decided on the name Wilson. Wilson loved to run through the park, in the woods, around the neighborhood
when he got out, wherever. He loved water, though it seemed to perplex the living
day lights out of him since we would doggy paddle around and then snap or bark
when he splashed himself in the face. He loved butt rubs, and would lean into
whichever side you happened to be scratching him on. For the first and only time, my siblings and I fought over who got to walk him first.

But I think the most remarkable thing about Wilson, was
that he seemed to sense emotion better than any dog I have ever known. The most
poignant example of this happened in my senior year in high school. I came home
after having a conversation with a good friend who happened to have a rare form
of cancer called osteogenic sarcoma. My friend had gathered three of us around
to let us know that hospice was moving in, and that she didn’t expect to live
much longer. It was, and remains to be, the most heartbreaking conversation I
have ever had in my life. I managed to keep it together in the car as another friend drove me home, but the second I got inside I collapsed onto our couch sobbing uncontrollably. My family immediately cocooned
me with love, including Wilson. He paced in front of the couch and as soon as
there was space, climbed up (in that way where he thought he was being sneaky,
but he was really too big for that at this point) he started to lick my face
and snuggle into me.

He may not have known exactly what was going on, but he knew
I needed him, and that was all that mattered. He did the same thing on the day
of her funeral, and every time I needed a moment of comfort in the months
following, he was there. Wilson was the fluffy reminder that there is such
thing as unconditional love at those moments when my family seemed to need it
most. He greeted us with enthusiasm and excitement each time we walked through
the door after a shitty day, he snuggled us on the couch when we were feeling
cold (or if there was just an inch of space that wasn’t being occupied), he
went on walks with us, he gave us kisses, and he let us know that we were his
greatest source of joy and love when we felt like we couldn’t do anything
right.

I have no doubt that if you have ever loved a dog, that they
have done this for you as well. That is why dogs are amazing, that is why they
are God’s fuzzy angels.

So you can imagine how it broke my heart to know that after
14 years on this earth, that is was time for Wilson to go home. And so
yesterday, December 4th, 2013, Wilson went to those endless fields
in the sky, where tennis balls are forever thrown and belly rubs flow endlessly
from a sea of loving hands. I won’t lie, it was hard to keep it in while
reading the message from my Mom. I turned into this silently sobbing wreck in
the corner of the library, and I can imagine the guys sitting at the table with me may have
been a bit weirded out.

Its hard, I knew this was coming, but I was kind of hoping he would hold out till I got home to say "goodbye." It felt like for all the times he was there for me, I should be able to be there for him in this last moment. But I know he was surrounded by love, I know that my family did right by him, and I know that he has been chomping on turkey leftovers from Thanksgiving and working those big puppy dog eyes for extra treats since the cancer in his leg got bad. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard if I didn't miss home so badly anyways.

So I walked back from work, dropped my stuff off, and did what any
good Irish Catholic person would do in a time of loss. I bought
a pint of whiskey, I made a ton of food, and I poured a shot out for my dog.

Maybe it’s a little
emotional, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

2 comments:

I read this through tears, Claire. He was wonderful, although he never liked Taylor. After two nips, put her in her place. She could never understand that. He gave love and was loved. He did his job well and your family's life will forever be better for it. You will miss him like Uncle Peter and I miss Patton and never forget. Thank you for these beautiful words.